


Anger over tears

by WhoWhatWhereWhy



Category: Merlí (TV)
Genre: A SHITTON OF PAIN, Also very fist fanfic, Help, I'm Sorry, M/M, Pain, Please don't judge me, Sorry again, i did this on a whim, i dont know how to form coherent sentences, ignore them pls, it's awful I know, slow burn i guess, so many plot holes, some smut if youre patient
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-06-18 13:05:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15486399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoWhatWhereWhy/pseuds/WhoWhatWhereWhy
Summary: After Merlí's death, Bruno is in a dark place.After Merlí's death, Pol is lost.After Merlí's death, no one knows how to console either of them.Maybe all they need is each other.If only they'd realize that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry pls dont judge.

Bruno brushed his fingers over his stubble. Merlí would’ve hated this. His dad would’ve convinced him it made him look older. He would’ve found a way, voluntarily or not, to make him shave it off. A melancholic smile crossed over Bruno’s face.

He wasn’t here now, was he?

The room was dark, the lights long forgotten and various broken objects lay around. Bruno had spent so much time in the infuriating silence that he was sure his voice had escaped in one of the corners of the empty living room. His eyes were swollen and they physically hurt when he blinked, his bloodied knuckles stinging every time he moved his hands.

What a sight he was.

Bruno staggered to the kitchen for a glass of water and immediately threw it at the wall once he was done. Waves of anger constantly interrupted his sorrow and more often than not, he had no control over his emotions.

A noise shattered the thick air around the disheveled young man. Someone was knocking as if they were trying to break down the door. Bruno went over a list in his head, checking out each individual with a partial memory. His grandmother and him dealt with grief in different ways so it had been easy to convince her they needed time apart. He’d gone off to a broken down motel on the outskirts of town to seek refuge from reality.

No matter, it had caught up with him in form of his equally grieving friends.

Plenty of them had come to check up on him but no one had managed to get inside. Most of the time, Bruno was so drunk he barely remembered their passing but in the rarest times he was sober he simply kept quiet until they all eventually left. They’d all left food in front if the door but he couldn’t get himself to swallow down anything so rotten food lay on the doorstep.

“Bruno.”

The voice hadn’t screamed like the others. Pol had barely uttered his name but that was enough for the mentioned to freeze in his tracks. He stared at the door, a clear image of Pol forming in his mind.

“Please.”, his voice was calm, unlike the others, “Open up.”

If he could, Bruno would’ve laughed. Life truly had a sense of irony. For the longest time he had been the one demanding that of Pol.

Oh, how the roles had reversed. Only because of-

Bruno felt hot tears dwelling up in his eyes but his anger prevailed and he turned to hide in his room. Pol must’ve heard him because the next plead was slightly different.

“Bruno, fuck.” Now, there was the man he knew. “Let me see you.”

His voice had trembled and with it, the front door when, in a desperate attempt, Pol had punched it. Out of habit or out of past care, Bruno moved closer to the entrance as if to check up on his ex-lover.

“Let me help you.”

Any pity Bruno had felt for Pol the previous moment dissolved once he said those words. Before he could think twice, he swung the door open. For a fraction of time, the both of them merely observed one another. Bruno took in the disheveled version of the man he loved in front of him. Pol’s right eye was swollen shut and the left side of his face would probably forever be scarred by the immense gash on his cheek. His hair covered part of the disaster that was Pol’s face and the natural ease of Pol Rubio was gone.


	2. Trapped in one's head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, I'm continuing this.

“ **You’re** going to help **me**?” Bruno’s voice came out louder than expected, “Have you seen yourself?” He asked, making a show out of looking Pol from head to toe.

The former didn’t seem to notice as his eyes were glued to Bruno’s knuckles.

“Holly hell,” a sigh escaped Pol’s lips. He opened his mouth a number of times but words couldn’t manage to stumble out. A sudden surge of confidence possessed Pol as he pushed Bruno aside to reveal what was left of the hotel room.

Both men tensed at the sight in front of them.

Pol observed the remnants of all the broken furniture, noted the blood stained pieces of glass on the floor and all the empty alcohol bottles scattered everywhere.

Bruno, on the other hand, couldn’t look away from his friend. Except the excessive damage on his face, he could now see the cuts and bruises all over Pol’s arms. He also spotted numerous burns on his back, having caused holes in his shirt.

Neither moved for a moment, their minds providing horrifying images that could explain what they were witnessing.

Pol shook his head, chasing away his imagination and turned towards Bruno, who was still holding the door handle, frozen in place.

“Let me help you,” he repeated.

“Get out,” Bruno immediately retaliated.

“Not a chance.”

They stared each other down before Pol moved a few empty bottles and sat on the sofa, decision clear on his face. The silence engulfed them like the ocean does a drowning victim. Bruno’s anger threatened to bubble over but he had known Pol long enough to understand there was nothing he could do. He slammed the door shut and slid down onto the floor.

Neither knew how long the stayed like this, each trapped in their own personal hell, their minds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the best, not the worst.


	3. How do you deal with such pain ?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is already my longest work ever. First one as well.

“What happened to your knuckles?”

“Who gave you that scar?”

Both knew the answers to their questions but insisted on hearing them from the mouth of the other, however, their pride came into the play, as it always did. It had come in the way of their friendship, had ruined their relationship and had ultimately cost them a great lost.

Bruno didn’t want to admit he’d caused the damage to his knuckles himself as a way of feeling something. He’d punched one wall in the bedroom so many times, there was now a gaping hole right in the middle of it. He’d purposely grabbed broken bottles in all the wrong places so he could feel the shards of glass pierce through his skin. It angered him that no matter what he did, the physical pain wouldn’t even come close to the sorrow he felt inside. He wanted it to stop, he wanted to stop feeling so weak. His emotions controlled him and he never knew how he’d react. Bruno had desperately avoided human contact, wanting to spare his friends of the additional pain of dealing with him and yet here was Pol. Part of Bruno wanted to punch him but another one, the bigger one, was so close to shattering in his arms and crying into his shoulder.

Pol could see the internal conflict his friend was going through. He wanted nothing more than to wrap him in his embrace and tell him everything was going to be alright but he’d promised himself he would never lie to Bruno ever again. In all honesty, Pol was so far from being the right person to console anyone right now, he was holding himself together by scotch tape and willpower. Hell, he’d knowingly gone into a bad part of town and had walked into the first bar, looking for a fight. He’d gotten it alright. It had started out with a single guy but in a flash 5 of them had ganged up on him and he had ended up in a back alley, coughing up blood and teeth. That hadn’t stopped him and he’d limped towards another bar. There, they had met him with lighters and actual knifes. Grief had spoken for him and he’d thrown himself into fight after fight without giving it a second thought.

Tania had finally located him around the 4th bar and the look in her eyes spoke louder than any words she could’ve uttered. She had forced him into her car and had helped him back into his new apartment, not speaking the entire way. She’d returned every day, as if assuring herself he was still indeed alive. Not that he wanted to be. After a week of silence and forcing food into him, Tania had slipped him a piece of paper with Bruno’s hotel address and his room’s number.

“Everyone’s pretty certain Bruno hasn’t eaten in a week. He hasn’t let anybody in and as far as we know his grandmother escaped to Paris. You’re both hurting yourselves in your grief and I-,” Tania had taken a long breath in, trying to keep her composure, “You need each other, more than ever.”

And that’s how Pol had found himself pounding on Bruno’s door, pleading to help him when he couldn’t even help himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me go, who would've thought.


	4. I'm trying to forget my pain by submerging myself in yours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my imagination, Bruno's natural hair is curly, ok.

An hour had passed and neither had moved in the slightest. Bruno was still sprawled out on the floor and Pol hadn’t quit his position on the couch, both occasionally glancing at each other. Thoughts invaded Bruno’s mind, arrows filled with venomous memories filled his head up and he shook his head trying to chase away the tears. If Pol saw the single tear roll down on his cheek, he didn’t mention it. He didn’t mention it because he wanted to spare his friend the shame or rather because he was fighting off his own tears.

“Pol,” whispered the broken boy on the floor, “I beg of you, leave.”

“No.” The answer was infused with iron clad resolve and was accompanied by a heated staring match.

Bruno felt anger at the tip of his fingertips but it quickly faded away, the way camping fire does in the early hours of the morning. He couldn’t muster up enough efforts to fight with Pol so he felt himself resign to the situation and he got up while grunting. He headed for the kitchen cabinets and pulled out a whiskey bottle before sitting next to the other man. He gulped a large amount of the liquid and reveled in the burn he felt seconds afterwards. Without casting him a glance, he handed the rest to Pol and spread out on the couch.

Pol watched as Bruno fought with his own body before giving in and closing his eyes as slowly as possible. The alcohol mixed with the physical and mental exhaustion knocked Bruno out cold and now Pol had the chance to assess the entirety of the damage around him. He gave up on counting the dozens of bottles surrounding him and just put his mind to getting them all, full or empty, out of the apartment.

Next on his list was to fill up the fridge with food Tania had given him. He was certain the amount could last them both for a month and he silently thanked the girl’s overbearing nature. He looked at the food lined up in the fridge, his stomach making a gurgling sound. The past week, Pol had barely eaten anything without hurling it out moments after. His body begged for nourishment but his mind messed up his system and he’d abandoned food for the instant.

Next up, he picked up the broom from the janitor’s supply closet, convincing the man he preferred to do the cleaning for that specific hotel room himself. He swept the floors of Bruno’s hideaway and he tried his best to ignore the blood on the shards of glass but it was all he could concentrate on. Scared by the amount of blood present on them, Pol approached the sleeping man and tried to get a look at his hands but they were hidden in the depths of his sweater sleeves. He’d have to find a way of seeing all of the wounds Bruno had caused himself and talk him into treating them.

Pol sighted as he observed the room. He’d swept and moped the floors, had replaced the broken light bulbs, had filled up the fridge and had gotten rid of anything that could cause harm. Well, anything physical at least.

Bruno stirred in his sleep and brought Pol’s eyes to him. God, his face portrayed pure grief, even when he wasn’t awake. His eyes bore deep circles and ugly creases caused by worry had made themselves at home around his eyebrows. His lips, usually pink and plump, were now adorned by an entire layer of dead skin. His cheeks were colored by numerous cuts but most of the bruises were covered up by his beard and didn’t show the true extent of the harm. Bruno had let his hair do whatever it desired and it had resulted in a mess of curls atop of his head and all Pol wanted to do was to run his fingers through it and transfer all of the man’s pain to his own.

All Pol wanted to do was to help Bruno, to diminish his pain, but he didn’t realize that’s exactly what he needed as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is turning out to be so fucking difficult to write.


	5. Help me breathe, I forgot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My dudes, please bare in mind that I never edit my works because I end up hating my writing so much I don't think it deserves to be read, hence why I haven't posted in so long.

Bruno jerked awake and fear quickly overcame him because it had been merely hiding in a corner while he slept. Refusing to address his emotions, or whatever came his way for that matter, he was guided by pure instinct to the kitchen cabinets. After he’d opened them all a dozen times, making sure his bottles wouldn’t magically reappear, he let a string of cuss words roll from his tongue as he quickly solved the mystery of the disappearance of his blissful ignorance.

“You won’t find anything in there.”

The voice startled Bruno even though he was entirely aware that the other man was here. After weeks of silence, he just couldn’t get used to another human presence, it disturbed him at his core. His carefully tucked away rage was making its presence known little by little and Bruno didn’t have the force necessary to fight it. He’d grown used to drowning it all out, be it sorrow or anger, with a bottle of liquid courage and whenever it all got too much, physical pain was always a nicer alternative.

The coerced alcoholic felt Pol’s gaze fixed on him but the shrunken bit of pride he didn’t know he had left wouldn’t let him turn around. He stood as a soldier confronted by his lieutenant, his fists balled up under his sleeves, trying hard to control his ragged breathing. He heard Pol shift behind him and before he could realize it, a piercing pain ran behind Bruno’s eyes as he hurried to cover himself from the light. He held onto the counter for dear life as he did a mental check of all the lights he’d broken since he’d arrived in this personal hell. He was sure to have broken any remnants of luminosity on the 2nd day of his refuge, seeking to hide himself from his own thoughts. The boy grunted like a wounded animal as realization dawned on him and he turned around to face Pol.

“Leave.”

“Eat.”

“There’s nothing to-,” Bruno was interrupted as Pol tore open the mini fridge to reveal more food than the poor boy had seen in a month.

“Courtesy of Tania.”

Ah, that explains it. His friend had been over so many times that Bruno had lost count but he’d never once let her in, afraid of her reaction to the mess he’d become. Nonetheless, each of her visits was marked by the countless dishes she left at his front door, his only source of alimentation. He’d take a few bites before his tears flooded his vision and all sense of appetite would disappear. He always ended up throwing the leftovers back to the front door, willing his body to just give up on him.

“I’m not hungry.”

“I don’t care.”

Bruno didn’t know what to do. This, this room, this place, this was his escape. He couldn’t march out into the world, the thought alone terrified him, he was far from being ready for that kind of exposure. He couldn’t convince Pol to leave, the man was as stubborn as they came. He couldn’t get in a fight with him, his body trembled at the single thought of throwing a punch and receiving one back. Bruno had absolutely no idea how to handle the situation, how to handle Pol.

Both men reprised their earlier staring contest but Bruno couldn’t stop assessing Pol’s injuries. In the light, everything had doubled in size and magnitude. From his black eye to the gashing cut on the cheek right down to the way Pol wobbled as he walked. What had the blond man done? Bruno chased away his questions, he didn’t have the energy to deal with any of this, he couldn’t deal with his own misery let alone have time to be concerned with his ex.

Could he even call Pol that?

Wrong path, thought Bruno, don’t go there.

He sighted and returned to the sofa, slumping down with a loud grunt, willing his hands to stop trembling.

“I’m not going anywhere,” reminded Pol, determination etched in his voice.

All Bruno could do was to stare right in front of him willing his friend (is Pol even considered a friend?) to leave before he completely broke down. The absence of alcohol would make its presence known very soon and he prayed he’d have chased Pol away by then.

“Tania sent you, didn’t she?” Bruno started off, “She made come check up on me, isn’t that right?” 

“I— “

Bruno didn’t have time for lies and shenanigans and immediately took control of the conversation, “We both know the truth, let’s spare the crap. Why are you here, Pol?” 

The other man dragged his feet to the sofa and positioned himself at the very end of it, each and every one of his moves planned carefully. He looked down as he tended to do before a lie and inhaled sharply.   
“I don’t know,” he ran a hand through his hair, “Fuck, Bruno I have no idea why I’m here but I also know there’s no other place for me to be. Tania, she “—Pol looked down again, but this time shame colored his bruised face — “She thinks we can help each other, you know with the— “ 

Rare was the sight of a stammering Pol. Rare was the sight of an ashamed Pol. Rare was the sight of an honest Pol.

Bruno couldn’t take it. He felt like all the air of the room had been sucked out with his last breath and he closed his eyes in a desperate attempt to collect himself. Everything had changed. Every single detail of his life was forever altered, his friends treated him like a glass doll, his grandmother refused to look at him and now this? Being confronted by the one person he’d sworn out of his life for good? All of it because of what? Because Merlí decided his time was up? Because a higher power chose to take his father away? Because of fucking faith?

In one swift motion, he jumped up and headed towards the bedroom. Before he could hear Pol say anything he slammed the door shut and crumpled to the cold floor. Bruno’s sobs shook his entire body and filled the entire hotel with unfulfilled desire and terrible, terrible regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still operating on a whim here, so plot hole and errors might be on the horizon. That being said, writing fucking terrifies me.


	6. A string of light in an otherwise dark room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why, hello again.

Pol was torn. On one side, he knew he should let Bruno grieve. On the other however, his heart was tearing itself apart hearing the other boy break and not doing anything.

_Fuck this,_ he thought as he headed towards the bedroom door.

When he tried opening the door Pol realized Bruno’s entire weight was blocking it. He summoned the last bits of his strength he had left and practically threw himself at the door, falling over in result.

“Why won’t leave goddammit,” Bruno almost whispered as his body shook.

Before he could think better of his actions, Pol tried to wrap his arms around Bruno, tried to comfort the both of them in an overbearing hug, but didn’t anticipate the other boy’s reaction. Bruno practically crawled away from Pol and his legs shook as he rushed to his feet.

“No, no, no, no,” Bruno couldn’t stop repeating, “It’s all so wrong, it— NO.”

Pol let his own sob escape and willed his body to stop trembling. He could see Bruno unravel in front of him and, God help him, he didn’t know what to do. Why had Tania thought they could help each other? There had always been this barrier between them, the final problem to their strained relationship, their pride had been the piece that had always ruined the both of them. Now standing in this room, feet apart, staring at each other as they broke down, nothing was different.

Different setting, same problem.

And it suddenly hit Pol like a punch in the gut. He couldn’t let this happen, not again, not this time. They needed each other more than anything and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t fight. Pol had to push through all this, had to let go of the past, to help them both.

And so, without a warning he threw himself at Bruno and held on to the crying man even as Bruno dug his nails into his skin trying to escape the tight grip. After a few long minutes, Bruno’s energy seemed to die down as quickly as it had appeared and he let himself be held and soon his legs gave out under him.

Pol let him down on the bed and disappeared into the kitchen before coming back with a heated bowl of soup. He set it down on the nightstand and let his eyes roam over Bruno’s sleeping body and a sudden thought popped into his mind. He found his bag and located the first aid kit Tania had given him to treat his own wounds. Pol hadn’t opened it yet, preferred to let the pain wash over him as he moved rather than to absolve himself from stinging. As he moved Bruno’s sleeves up to reveal the boy’s gashes, the little voice inside his head reminded him how much of a hypocrite he was being. Nonetheless, he continued to asses Bruno’s injuries, even flinched when he saw the beginning of infection on some of them.

When he lifted the hem of the boy’s shirt, Bruno stirred awake and immediately pushed Pol’s hands away as he pulled his knees to his chest. His brown eyes searched for words but the poor boy was obviously too exhausted to form coherent sentences. The lack of sleep and the current alcohol withdrawal was taking its toll on him and Bruno said nothing when Pol reached for his sleeves again. He did however jump when the rubbing alcohol collided with his open gashes. He hissed in pain but Pol was determined to get all of them. Bruno’s hands were covered in tiny dashes of blood, caused by all the times he’d picked up the broken alcohol bottles. The cuts over his arms and chest made Pol’s eyes water to think of what he must’ve done to achieve them, but he pushed the horrifying images away. After he was certain he had gotten all of the marks, Pol reached for the soup when Bruno grabbed his hand.

“Bruno, you have to— “

“I’ll eat when you’re treated too.”

It was Pol’s turn to be at loss of words. He stared at the other boy in incredulity and his mind raced to find an excuse. Bruno couldn’t see what Pol had done to himself, nothing good could come of it and Pol stood up abruptly. Without missing a beat, Bruno got up to his full height, looking Pol straight in the eyes, making him almost squirm.

“If you’re going to stay, we’re going to treat each other the same. You can’t act as if I’m the only one hurting, you can’t lie and hide your pain. I want to see the truth, I want to stop being treated like a glass doll, I want to feel like before,” Bruno took a deep breath,” I just want the world to stop spinning for a second and you being here is either going to help or make it that much worse. We’re equals or you can walk out right now.”

Pol let his tears roll down and he vigorously shook his head up and down. He knew Bruno was right and wanted more than anything for the other boy to trust him again but he was so afraid. His hands trembled and he heard Bruno gasp when his shirt hit the floor. Pol’s chest was exposed for the taller boy to see and he felt shame prickle at his skin. From the burn scars to the painful bruises, his torso was colored ten different shades of pain and for the first time since the bar fights Pol let himself fully feel it. Bruno got over his initial reaction and made himself busy, assessing each injury and treating it to the best of his abilities. Except for the occasional hiss, Pol kept quiet and stared hard the floor, guilt having seized him.

“I’m such a hypocrite,” he muttered and tried stepping away from Bruno but the other held him by the shoulders, “I don’t know what Tania was thinking, I can’t deal with myself, let alone try to help you I’m just useless right now and— “

Bruno put a hand on his mouth, “If anyone can understand how you feel, it’s me.”

The boys stared at each other, really looked, and time seemed to slow for a quick second. Their mutual grief and pain finally met and both of them collapsed. Any crumbs of pride that might’ve been lingering still gave out and all that was left was two broken boys crying into each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I'm trying to stir the boys towards happier times but I have no idea how to transition from such pain to something more comfortable? Do I even keep writting, fuck help me?


	7. Confessions between two broken souls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a short transition chapter on the way to happier times

Pol awoke with his face deep in a sent he had long forgotten. His eyes snapped open and he waited for his hazy brain to catch up with reality. Amongst the crying and breaking, the boys had managed to fall asleep, together, on the hotel bed, and now Pol found himself buried in Bruno’s hair, one arm slung across his waist. What does he do? Does he silently slip out and not speak of this? Is there anything to talk about?  Does he wake Bruno up? Before Pol could answer any of his thoughts, he felt Bruno stir under his grip and the decision seems as easy as breathing. Pol tightened his arms around his friend and closed his eyes, willing sleep to return.

When Pol woke up for the second time, he came face to face with a seated Bruno, a face full of a dozen emotions as he stared at Pol's scars.

“Are you going to tell me what the hell you did?” came the dreaded question and Pol couldn’t help but groan into his hands. He sat up, back against the heading of the bed, and chewed at his lower lip. He let his eyes close for a second and just breathed, in and out, in and out.

“I needed proof of my pain.”

Pol felt pebbles in his mouth and couldn’t look directly at Bruno, thought his confession was just as pathetic as he’d feared. When the silence stretched on, he forced himself to confront his expectation of Bruno’s face but the other’s reaction was hidden by a thick smog.

“Let’s eat,” Bruno declared and swiftly jumped out of the bed without a second glance.

Pol was taken aback, to say the least. The difference between this Bruno and the Bruno 12 hours ago was astonishing and he needed a moment to adjust.The Bruno that had opened the door a half day ago was the same as the one that had rushed off to make food and yet they seemed like different people alltogether. Pol gripped the bedsheets as if reassuring himself of the reality around him, something he’d had to do a lot since Merli’s death.

“Pol.”

The former’s head snapped up and there Bruno was, right in front of him, his eyes boring holes into Pol. Both couldn’t look away from each other and both were once again trembling. Bruno seemed to compose himself, as much as he could at least, and took Pol’s face in his hands.

“I’ve been”— Bruno passed his thumbs across Pol’s cheeks, smearing his tears in the process— “I’ve been doing the same thing, it’s like the pain takes over my insides, it feels like it’s burning my intestines, my knees shake, my god, everything shakes so much and it feels like fire, it feels like ice, it feels like I’m being eaten from the inside out and Pol it hurts”— Bruno’s voice broke as his tears ran free— “It hurts so fucking much and outside pain, it just, it’s just a physical proof of the shitstorm inside but we both have to stop, it’s not going to make it better it’s not going to—“ Bruno's dangerous rant was interrupted when Pol grabbed his hand.

“It doesn’t make it better but, Bruno, for a second, it takes the attention away from the inside pain and I need a break, I need the short relief, I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Bruno shook his head violently and, out of all the possible reactions, Pol ended up snorting in his laughter. A moment of complete stillness followed, before Pol chuckled again and all Bruno could do was stare at the other man in incredulity.

“Figures that the only way to help you is to make you help you someone else.”

And the two boys erupted in a maddening fit of giggles, a sight for sore eyes, had anyone seen them.

“Tania is a lot smarter than we give her credit, you know,” Bruno sighted after they’d gotten over their initial reaction to their realization.

“Let’s eat.”

* * *

 

The boys ate with a hunger of dying, deprived men coming back from the war. They grabbed at the food as if it’d be stolen from their grip, they ate with the speed of fear and swallowed with an unknown desperation. Once done, they found themselves at the sink, in the oddly domestic action of washing and drying the dishes. Their long forgotten comfortable silence that people get to know only after a few years had returned without warning and they had settled in it without realizing.

Things might be looking up for the two of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found myself in winter vacation, bored out of my mind, so I've dared myself to keep going and finish this.


	8. Hope on the horizon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like this chapter very much but at least I'm trying

_ Two months later _

 

Bruno unlocked the door and kicked it open while waddling the groceries, careful not to drop the eggs. Pol materialized quickly enough in front of him and helped by taking a few of the bags, almost breaking the precious eggs in the process.

“Careful, come on, I managed to keep them intact the whole ride over, are you really going to destroy my process so easily?” Bruno bantered and Pol couldn’t help the warm smile that took over his face.

“Did you— “

“Don’t worry, I found your precious pecan pie and I would like to make it known to the general population that your taste in food is positively disgusting.”

Pol ignored his comment as he started placing the food in the fridge, concealing the blush on his face. Bruno didn’t need to know the real reason behind Pol’s request, he didn’t need to know that the only reason Pol kept asking him to bring home different weird foods was because he wanted to preoccupy Bruno’s mind as he was confronted by the outside world.

Bruno had been outside four times now and was readjusting to his new reality slowly but surely. Every time he’d gone for the groceries, Pol had sat in the hotel room, hyperventilating and it had taken all of his willpower not to run after Bruno, especially the first time.

Life wasn’t all sunshine and daisies, wouldn’t be for a long time, but they helped each other through the hard times, even if it was merely by being there, another physical presence in the cold apartment. They each dealt differently, Bruno often sulked in damp silence as opposed to Pol who needed to move when he felt threatened, but they had learned how to comfort the other.

Bruno’s grief was everlasting but it manifested itself more in waves than a constant drape of sadness. It’s like his pain was always in the back of his mind but sometimes he managed to ignore it so he could feel other emotions. That showed in his round-the-clock mood swings, one moment he’d be laughing at Pol’s joke, another he’d stare at the bedroom ceiling for hours on end or he’d be screaming his lungs out for a single shot of alcohol, _any alcohol please Pol._ Pol had understood what was required of him and was just there, no matter what his friend threw at him, be it an insult or a physical object, he stayed. At first, the moments of infuriating silence had been never ending, tear-your-hair-out moments of silence where Pol felt he could lose his already thin sanity, but he had stayed. He would sit next to Bruno and stare long and hard at the same wall with him, occasionally letting himself stroke his friend’s back. With time, Bruno tears were still an everyday occurrence but so were his small smiles and, if Pol was lucky, Bruno’s laugh as well.

Pol’s grief showed itself in his frequent restlessness. His mind was always spinning its wheels and when it got to be too much, Pol started shaking his leg, his arms would twitch and he’d often shake his head no, as if chasing away his thoughts. In moments like these, he would start walking around the apartment, muttering under his breath, his whole body trembling, aching for a physical relief. When Pol would get like this, Bruno had learned to give him some space and put a Bon Jovi album on repeat, as loud as possible. After a while, music would start seeping itself in Pol’s maze of a brain and he’d let himself be transported by the singer’s voice, would pause his thoughts for a few songs. More and more often, they had found themselves singing a few songs together, their voices loud and wrong, but with smiles on their faces.

The past two months had been filled with sorrow, sure, but small steps had been made towards hope for happiness. It had taken a few fight and broken lamps, but Pol had managed to convince Bruno to let Tania into the apartment. The girl had arrived with mountains of food, of course, and had ushered the both of them about the smell, had brought numerous pieces of clothing and had updated them on everything that had happened outside their grief bubble. After that, Pol and Bruno’s small improvement steps had multiplied, from their boosted appetite to their trips to the outside, they’d been getting so much better.

“—do you even know what’s inside because it sure as hell isn’t healthy, and what’s more, have you seen the calories on this thing? You’d think it was pure fucking sugar by the looks of it,” Bruno continued with his rant, not even looking at Pol, missing the affectionate look on the other boy’s face.

“What are we watching today?” Pol finally interrupted Bruno as he placed the last of the tomatoes on the fridge shelf.

“I was thinking maybe the next ‘Sherlock’ episode but, you know, I’m not that picky, we can watch whatever you want to watch, honestly,” Bruno quickly mumbled as Pol stared at him with a smile on his face.

Bruno had changed a lot since Pol and he had had their _thing,_ his rising confidence being one of the biggest altercations to his personality. It wasn’t that Pol didn’t enjoy watching Bruno go after what he wanted, he really did, but he also loved seeing that timid side of Bruno reemerge from time to time, it reminded him of the boy he’d first fallen in love with—

Pol had once again gotten surprised by his own thoughts and had to close his eyes and shake his head, taking in a shaky breath. It had been a long while since he’d allowed himself to even approach those feelings with a 10-foot pole and he didn’t think he was prepared to confront them. He shook his whole body the way a dog shakes its body to get rid of the water on his back and headed for the sofa.

Bruno, who’d watched Pol’s exchange with himself, shrugged and grabbed a bowl to put the chips in.

They settled into their latest routine of chips and Netflix, the bowl in the middle of them on the sofa, all light off, eyes on the laptop. It had worked so far to make them feel comfortable and had helped them forget about their own reality for a few episodes. What neither of them had anticipated the newest episode of “Sherlock” and how much it was going to rip their hearts out. The end of the season had Watson crying over his best friend’s grave, begging him to come back, to just _not be dead, please_. They’d both wanted to shut the laptop shut when they understood what was going on but neither had reached and so when the episode finished and the screen turned black, both boys stood there, in the dark, silently choking down tears.

“Why did he have to die, Pol?” Bruno buried his face in his hands and willed his tears back at the same time as his sobs escaped him, “I had no warning,” Bruno looked at Pol through his blurry lenses, “I had no chance at a dramatic goodbye, I had no goodbye.”

Pol weaved his hand through Bruno’s hair and pulled him towards himself, Bruno’s head ending up on Pol’s thighs as they settled into their new position. They were both still crying but Pol was holding Bruno’s hand as he let the fingers of his other hands run through the boy’s hair.

They fell asleep like that, in each other’s arms, broken but warm.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dudes, everyone should watch BBC's Sherlock, it's fucking amazing.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright so listen up, this is probably filled with plot holes. I kindly ask of you to not point them out to me as this work is only published because I finally gathered up the courage to post my own writing. It will probably be deleted soon so no need to make me feel bad about it. I am sorry you had to sit through my atrocious writing if it can even be called that. Also if you did read the whole chapter, what's wrong with you ?


End file.
